Beauty

I am lovely, O mortals, as a dream of stone,
And my breast, where all break, by and by,
Is made to inspire in poets a love
As endless and silent as world.

I throne in the blue like a mystery sphinx,
I unite a heart of snow with the whiteness of swans,
I hate the movements which displace my lines
And never do I laugh and never do I cry

Poets, before my great attitudes,
Which I seem to take from the proudest steles
Will eat up their days in austere thoughts

As I've, to fascinate these docile lovers
Pure mirrors, which make all things more beautiful
My eyes. My large eyes of eternal light.